


Shapes

by leiascully



Series: The FBI's Most Unwanted [21]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode Related, Gen, Legends, Native American Mythology - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 14:31:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4308762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She had no place evaluating a legend, but Mulder gathered her in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shapes

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: 1.18 "Shapes"  
> Disclaimer: _The X-Files_ and all related characters are the property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Studios. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

It was strange, being in the mountains with Mulder. The trees grew too closely together. Everything was too green. The fog that drifted through the valleys seemed to hang between them, until she snapped at Mulder. He seemed more deliberately obtuse than usual. Maybe it was just that she wasn't a country girl. She couldn't read tracks. Her shoes weren't made for the mud and grass of the fields. Mulder, meanwhile, seemed at ease. She wondered if there was anything that wasn't simple for him, aside from his effort to make himself credible. 

She was moved by Gwen, whose eyes held so much hurt, whose life had become so empty. Scully couldn't imagine losing one of her brothers, or worse, her sister. Gwen pressed the item into her hand - the bracelet, perhaps, or the totem. Scully wasn't sure what to call it, beads strung together with a claw on a leather thong. It was like nothing she'd ever owned before. They waited at the funeral until the pyre was lit. The Tregos chanted and the sound was eerie and perfect. It resonated somehow, perfectly suited to their surroundings. This land had not always been ranches and cattle. There were longer memories here and the song was part of it. The heat from the flames licked at her face like hot breath, a welcome counterpoint to the cool soggy air. She was certain Mulder was imagining the panting of the animal he insisted Joe had become and mourning the loss of the evidence of Joe's body. 

Scully kept the claw in her pocket. Somehow its smooth, cool heaviness soothed her. Maybe it was the curve of it under her fingertips. Maybe it was the notion that she had done one small thing to help Gwen by accepting the gift. She had begun to understand Lyle Parker's feeling of being watched; she felt caught between the Tregos and Tskany, the Parkers and the mountain lion, and Mulder. 

Ancient history. The legend of the manitou, the original X-File. An old story too, the way blood would always tell. A campfire story of original sin. She had no place evaluating a legend, but Mulder gathered her in. She was grateful for his inclusion but found no place to stand. There was mud everywhere and she was bogged down, only on solid ground at the hospital, where the tiles clicked under her shoes and she understood the jargon.

And in the end, everyone they'd come to help was dead or gone. There would be funerals for Lyle and his father. Joe was ashes mixing with the soil. Gwen was gone and Scully wished her well with an odd pang of tenderness, touching again the claw in her pocket. The brightest aspect of the whole case was how she and Mulder had overcome their differences in the crisis moment in the dark house, side by side against an unknown menace that had turned out to be the unlucky Lyle. There was no comfort in that. 

They drove down through the mountains, the fog slowly lifting.


End file.
